


Margaret's Wedding

by onekisstotakewithme



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Hawkeye Pierce, F/M, M/M, Post-War, Wedding Fluff, hunnihawk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 05:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13827795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onekisstotakewithme/pseuds/onekisstotakewithme
Summary: "Your presence is joyfully requested to celebrate the marriage of Margaret Houlihan and Theodore Russell"It's 1955, nearly two years since peace was declared, and Hawkeye gets a little something in the mail that he wasn't expecting.A chance to reunite with the other members of the 4077... and one member in particular.





	Margaret's Wedding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flootzavut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/gifts).



> this is for flootzavut, to whom I can only say: thank you ♥

**Crabapple Cove, Maine, April 24, 1955**

Hawkeye should be on his way out the door by this time of the morning.

Today though, he lingers, sitting on his front porch with a cup of real coffee, listening to the birds in the trees as the sun slowly creeps higher in the sky. He closes his eyes for a second, and grasps the porch railing a little tighter, as if the splinters he’s surely getting will keep him grounded in reality.

He’s done such a good job of forgetting (or so he tells himself), but there’s an envelope sitting on his lap, already stained from the coffee he spilled on it with shaking hands when he saw the handwriting.

 _Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce,_ written in Margaret’s tidy penmanship.

The wood under his hands is solid, and it does help a little, but even as he’s sitting on his front porch in Crabapple Cove, his mind is already hundreds of miles away.

Korea.

 _Why is she writing me?_ Hawk wonders, glaring down at this envelope, which might as well be a live grenade for how much it’s affecting him. He’d planned on leaving her in Korea, along with the still and the dirt and the blood, with that one last kiss as the goodbye he didn’t know how to put into words. What if she thought the kiss meant more? It wouldn’t be the first time.

 _It’s funny,_ he thinks wryly, _she wasn’t even the one I_ wanted _to kiss._

He sighs, itching for a martini, and he’s already turning for Beej’s opinion, the way he’s done a thousand times before, and for the thousand and first time, he finds the spot beside him empty. Maybe by the two thousandth time, it’ll sting less. Maybe not.

Finally, he tears open the envelope, and pulls out the page inside, and as he reads it, he fumbles the coffee cup, his mind going momentarily blank, before the words sink in.

_Your presence is joyfully requested to celebrate the marriage of_

_Margaret Houlihan_

_And_

_Theodore Russell_

_~_

_Join them as they tie the knot and exchange their vows_

_On the Sixteenth of July, Saturday, Nineteen Hundred and Fifty-Five, at Four O’clock in the Afternoon_

_At the Pierre Hotel, 2 E 61st St, New York, NY 10065, USA_

_~ Reception to follow ~_

He’s still standing there, staring at the words and not really taking them in, as the need to laugh wells up inside him, and he’s sitting on his front porch, cackling, because he was expecting a lot of things, but not this. It’s a laugh of joy and relief and happiness and _why was he so worried anyway?_

One part of him dearly hopes that no one is around to witness this. Crabapple Cove has excused Hawkeye’s many quirks, attributing them to the war, but cackling like a looney on his front porch might finally change their minds.

He’s laughed so hard, he’s dropped the invitation. Breathlessly cackling, he bends over and picks it up, noticing Margaret’s handwriting on the back, and sighs. _Here it comes,_ he thinks.

_For all former or current army personnel, Class A uniforms are requested._

The laughter dies in his throat, and he clutches the invitation so tightly, he has to take a deep breath. The itch for a martini grows stronger, as does the immediate need to write Beej and tell him about this outrage. Surely he’s gotten an invitation too?

And then Hawkeye stops, already halfway through his front door, as another idea strikes him. _Play along, and you get to see Beej again._

He takes another deep breath, feeling almost as disoriented as his first day in Korea, and yet the thought of seeing Beej again… his shoulders relax. The invitation is still clenched in his fist, and his brain has bugged out, and he never wants to _ever_ wear that fucking uniform again if he can help it.

He shoves the crumpled invite in his pocket, and leaves the coffee cup to cool off on the porch, resolving to push the thought from his mind. He has to work after all.

He cares deeply about Margaret, but he drew a line when he got back: Korea stays in Korea, and he stays stateside. He’s already barely clinging to the few marbles that actually came back with him, and wearing that uniform might dislodge them. One day could unravel nearly two years of progress.

He needs to go to work.

And then he needs to hear what Beej has to say on the subject, because if anyone can make sense of Hawkeye’s mess of a brain, it’s Beej.

It always has been.

_*_

_Dear Beej,_ he starts, and then stops, realizing his teeth are clenched.

 _You must have gotten your invitation by now. Can you believe the_ nerve _Margaret has, insisting that we wear our Class As? I will never ever wear that fucking uniform again, no way, no how. Someone’s gotta tell her that if I have to wear that, I will stick a grenade down my pants. I spend all my waking hours trying to forget that place and all the trappings that went with it, uniform included, and Margaret decides, what, it’ll be cute to wear it at her wedding? Maybe while we’re at it, we can forget we’re civilians now and address each other by rank! It’ll be a scream! Or at least, I’ll be screaming. I gave up Captain Pierce when I lost those last few marbles. Whoever Captain Pierce is, it isn’t me. Maybe it never was. It’s ghoulish, Beej, fucking ghoulish. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for her and this Theodore guy, she deserves it after Frank and Donald (though I hope this guy is nothing like them). I’m not doing it though, Beej, I don’t care what she says. I refuse. I was having a good week, and then she had to come and ruin it. I’m not wearing it. I’ll protest by showing up in a suit. Or naked. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Beej? I’d look great in all the photos. You should do it too. How_ dare _she? This isn’t for the good of the outfit, or for me either (stop making that face, yours are worse, Attila the Pun). I’ll start tearing out my hair, and I’ll end up looking like Charles, and nobody wants that. You’d still love me without hair, wouldn’t you Beej? If not, I can blame it all on Margaret. She can scare away the last of my marbles if she wants to, but she better not take you._

 _Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Enough about me. How are you? And Peg? And Erin? I loved the last drawing of hers that you sent me, it was clearly inspired by Picasso. You have a budding artist on your hands there, Beej. Can you pass on my love to her, and ask her for more drawings? And remind her that red is definitely still my favorite color (which is your fault, I might add). However, showing her the letter may not be a good idea, I realize, reading back over the first paragraph. I said words that Peg would kill both of us for. I doubt either of you are too pleased with me anyway. I’m sorry I haven’t visited lately, and I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas… but things have been busy at the practice. Dad is considering retiring at last (so he can sit around the house and drive me crazier than I already am) and I could use a new partner… interested? It feels like I’m missing a limb, every day that you’re not here. Sorry. I’d make a joke but Margaret’s invitation has me fresh out of laughs. Say hi to the family, and give them both a kiss from me. Erin’s should be chaste and on the forehead, and Peg’s filthy and on the mouth. And ask Peg to kiss you for me. God knows I need it. This is the part where I’d sign the letter with a lipstick kiss, but I’m currently grinding my teeth to powder so it’ll have to wait. Take care of yourself, Beej. Please. And by the way, I’m giving you Orlando, so you owe me an_ O. _I miss you, Beej. Write back soon. And don’t forget those kisses. Your best friend, Hawk._

He puts his head in his hands, and sighs, closing his eyes. He can see Beej so clearly, and wishes more than anything to see him again. _118 days,_ Hawk thinks. _So many days and yet so few._

He can only hope Beej doesn’t count the days the way he does.

He craves a martini, but not as much as he craves seeing Beej again.

Beej is the one thing from Korea he hangs on to, the one who has always walked behind Hawk, picking up the pieces, and Hawkeye was right: he’ll never shake Beej, but he doesn’t want to.

He adds a quick postscript: _Beej, I’m not wearing a uniform, but if you do, wear sneakers with it. God, I can’t wait to see you again._

**Mill Valley, California, April 30, 1955**

“Morning, Peg.” It’s mumbled through a yawn, as BJ collapses into a chair at the dining table, and he’s already taken a sip of coffee when he sees the three envelopes sitting next to his plate. “What’s all this?”

“Two from Hawkeye,” she tells him. “I don’t recognize the handwriting on the third one.”

He smiles, picking up the two from Hawkeye, holding them to his nose. Somehow, despite all the miles they’ve travelled, they still smell like Hawkeye’s kitchen in Crabapple Cove. “Hope it’s nothing urgent.”

“If it was, Hawkeye would’ve called,” she reminds him, kissing the top of his head before sitting down. “But knowing Hawkeye, it’s likely another twenty-page description of his breakfast from two weeks ago. He spent at least five pages describing the scrambled eggs he had, and it made _me_ hungry,” she teases.

“Having eaten army slop for two years, I can’t blame him.” He grins, shaking his head, as he opens the unfamiliar envelope. He has a nagging feeling that he recognizes the handwriting, but can’t place it. He scans the enclosed page rapidly, the smile growing. “Well, that’s one mystery solved!”

“Who’s it from?” she asks, and he looks up at her, grinning.

“Margaret is engaged! She’s sent a wedding invitation!”

“That’s wonderful! When?”

“Uh… July the sixteenth, at the Pierre Hotel in New York.”

“It’s a lovely place,” Peg says, before sipping her coffee. “I have some very fond memories attached to that hotel. Will everyone be there, do you think?”

“I don’t know.” His mind is already racing, thinking of seeing his dearest friends again… and one in particular.

“Will Hawkeye be there?” Peg asks innocently, and he raises an eyebrow at her tone. She’s read his mind, and is watching him like… well like a hawk.

“Probably. He and Margaret were… close.” _Closer than either would admit._

“I heard they did a good job at… _sustaining_ each other.”

“Peg,” he says lightly, reaching over and squeezing her hand. “I’m not jealous of her.”

“You shouldn’t be,” she replies with a smile. “You got him in the end, didn’t you?”

_Yes, I’m the luckiest idiot in the whole world, because I got to keep both of you._

“I did, but… oh damn.” He reads over the letter again, and clears his throat. “ _For all former or current army personnel, Class A uniforms are requested.”_

“That’s not a problem,” she tells him, and a knot he’s long forgotten tightens in his chest. “Your uniform is in the closet upstairs.”

“Peg…” he starts, and then sees that she’s noticed. He squeezes her hand again. “I never wanted to wear that uniform again. Too many memories.” _Too much blood on my hands that’ll never go away, too many people that got hurt, that I couldn’t save. People like Hawkeye._

“I know,” she says softly, squeezing his hand back. “Are you going to go?”

“I never could say no to Margaret. And it’ll be nice to see everyone.” He reaches over, and opens Hawkeye’s first letter. “Yep. Hawk is furious.”

“About the uniforms?”

“The expletives gave it away.” He shakes his head. “Dammit. He said he’d sooner show up naked.”

She laughs, a welcome sound. “He’d do it too.”

He keeps reading, and smiles to himself. “Told me to give you a kiss.”

“Oh?” she asks, amused.

“Yeah. Come here, Peg. I could never say no to Hawkeye.”

“No one can. He’s very persuasive… even _I_ can’t say no to him.”

“Like you said, no one can. Even me, and I’ve had practice.” He stands, pulling her from her seat, and tugging her in close.

She laughs. “Keep it up, and you’ll be late for work.”

“So I’ll be late,” he tells her, leaning down and kissing her. He marvels again at how lucky he is, and the phantom pain of Hawkeye, his missing limb, lessens a little.

_*_

He sits down after dinner, the two letters from the morning sitting in front of him, and he wishes Hawk was here, so they could have this conversation in person, but it’s been 124 days since they’ve seen each other (not that Beej has been counting or anything). There’s a box under his bed filled with two years of letters and photos, and it’s the closest they can be when they live across the country from each other. He pictures Hawkeye sitting on his porch as the sun sets, reading the letters, underneath his ragged old quilt. His breath catches in his throat, and the ache of missing Hawkeye is back, settling down in his chest. He can’t put an ache into words, but if this is his chance to see Hawkeye again, he’ll take it.

_Dear Hawk,_

_That’s too bad about you not wearing your uniform. It’d be a nice thing to do for Margaret… and it’s too bad, because you look_ gorgeous _in that uniform. Take my word for it. I kissed Peg for you, and she demanded I do it again, so I obliged on your behalf. Hope you don’t mind. I know she didn’t. I’m not sure how our budget is going to stretch for both of us to come to the wedding, but we’ll make the effort. I really hope you’ll come, uniform or not. I don’t want to wear mine either, Hawk, trust me, but I’d rather do it with you, than without. It’s no fun alone (but what is, right?). I’m hoping that no matter how many memories wearing those stupid Class As will conjure up, we’ll have each other to lean on. I’ve always had your back, Hawk, and always will. Someone has to follow you and pick up all the marbles you keep losing, and I’d rather it be me than anyone else. Family first, right Hawk?_

 _Peg sends her love right back, and there will be lipstick kisses from both of us (I’ll have you know that I look dashing in red lipstick and Peg tried to take a picture of it, but she was laughing too hard). Erin told me to include another drawing, and says it’s of you, riding on a hawk. It’s one of my personal favourites, even if she seems to have you confused with Klinger- your nose is half your face. I tried to tell her that you’re the one with the big mouth, and not the big nose, but she refused to listen. Why are all artists so touchy? She’s already clearly inherited your sass, and you’ll pay for that, Hawk, trust me. I’ve been home almost two years… the same amount of time I was_ in _Korea. Two years isn’t that long, but in Korea, it was a lifetime. Then again, missing you makes 124 days feel like a lifetime. Oh, but if you think I’m relocating to Crabapple Cove, you really are crazy, and having your dad around the house all the time won’t make a difference. By the way, thanks for the O, I’ll give you Oxford… you owe me a D. And Hawk, please reconsider on the uniform? It really does bring out your best features. Love, Beej (and Peg and Erin, but mostly Beej)._

He looks down at the letter, and wishes he was better at conveying his feelings on paper. He loves Hawkeye, in war or in peace, but there’s so little he can do from California, except write letters, and hope that one of them will say the right thing.

Hawkeye signs his letters with _your best friend_ and it makes Beej’s chest ache all over again, because they _are_ best friends, but they’re also family and something indescribably _more_ , because you don’t see what they’ve seen and not cling to each other for dear life.

Beej isn’t sure they’ll ever let go. And he doesn’t want to.

**Crabapple Cove, Maine, May 7, 1955**

_Dear Beej,_

_I may have been too hasty in my last letter, but then again, you know me (I hope). My mouth is always ahead of my brain, except when my foot takes up residence there. I took lessons from Charles, you know, a virtuoso in having his foot in his mouth. I guess it isn’t too terrible an idea to wear my uniform. After all, I’d hate to stand out… I’m very shy, as you well know. And I could never disappoint Margaret (or you). I’ll be there with bells (and my uniform) on. Let me know what your plans are, and if you want money for Peg’s ticket, all you have to do is ask. God knows the two of you have done more than enough for me since coming home, and it’s the least I could do. And not even God knows what the two of you mean to me. Yours always, Hawk.  
PS- Oxford? Elementary, my dear Hunnicutt… Damascus. That’s an S._

He’s never liked to promise anything to Beej (except to have his back, and didn’t he do that?) because they made promises in war, and sometimes those are promises that can’t be kept, but Beej thinks he looks good in his uniform? _Gorgeous_ , even?

Forget Margaret. If Hawkeye has a say in the matter, he’ll do his best to never disappoint BJ Hunnicutt.

**Mill Valley, California, May 16, 1955**

“YAHOO!”

“BJ?”

He turns around, realizing he’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, with nothing but a towel around his waist, and realizes he probably doesn’t look very sane, but he’s grinning like a fool and he grabs his wife, pulling her into a damp hug, and grinning. “He said he’d do it! He’s wearing his uniform!”

He spins Peggy around, both of them laughing, and she giggles even harder once he sets her down, and she hands him back his towel, which has landed on the floor in the meantime. She smiles up at him, trying to stop laughing, as he covers himself. “How did you do it?”

“Easy, told him how good he looked in it. He loves to have his ego stroked… I think he inherited that quality from Charles.” Beej stops in his tracks, noticing that he’s dripping all over the floor. “Wow, I must be good. He’s even offering to help pay for your ticket.”

“Darling…” Peg is still laughing. “I’m not coming with you.”

“What?” he asks, confused. “What do you mean you’re not coming?”

“You and Hawkeye deserve a weekend to catch up. He can spend his money on a hotel room for the two of you instead of flying little old me out there. Besides, Erin and I can have some girl time here.”

He blinks. “Are you sure, Peg?”

“BJ, sweetheart, you really aren’t going to take advantage of a whole weekend with Hawkeye? Because if so, I don’t care how many schools you graduated top ten from, you’re an idiot.”

He laughs, but sighs. “Peg this is the first time we’ll all be together, since… well since the war ended. I want to show you off.”

“There’ll be more weddings, God willing. Hawkeye should get you for this one. And besides, if you don’t write to him, then I will. And you know he listens to me.”

“Occasionally,” Beej grumbles. “He _occasionally_ listens to you.”

“Do I sense some jealousy?”

“I’m used to being the only one who can reason with him,” Beej tells her, and she shakes her head.

“Write to Hawkeye, or I will. I love you, BJ, but so does he.”

“I know,” Beej tells her, and then kisses her. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Wasn’t without risk,” she tells him. “But it’s worth it, isn’t it? For the three of us?”

“It is,” he agrees. _It is._

_Dear Hawkeye,_

_Peg has not-so-discreetly told me that she expects this to be a weekend for you and I, and she wants to stay here and spend girl time with Erin. It’s very clever of her, and I’d accuse you of rubbing off on her, but she was already a trickster when I married her. No wonder the two of you get on like a house on fire, and maybe that’s why I care so much about both of you the way I do. She does suggest that if you wish to treat us to something, you book the hotel room for us. I’m getting excited to see you again, Hawkeye. Got kind of used to having you in the next bed. Or significantly closer depending on the night. Pack up your old kit bag and I’ll see you on the Friday night. Maybe I’ll even shave for you. Love, Beej._

_PS- it hasn’t been twenty years, but hey, save me a dance at the wedding anyway._

**Crabapple Cove, Maine, May 27, 1955**

_Dearest Beej,_

_Peg is a very wise woman, and I can see why you married her. You have good taste (so what are you doing around looneys like me?). I’ve got us a room, and I’ll meet you in the lobby at the Pierre Hotel on Friday night. And Beej? I can’t wait to see your face, and hear your voice, and I better not hug you in the lobby, because at this point, I’m not sure I’ll be able to let go. And I’ve saved all my dances for you. Love, Hawk._

Hawkeye’s going to a wedding.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do a little something for today, which is the thirty-fifth anniversary of when Goodbye, Farewell and Amen aired, and M*A*S*H ended. It may have ended almost two decades before I was born, but this show has come to mean so much to me, I felt the need to offer proper homage. And what better way to do that than write post-war happiness for these people who have been through so much?  
> Thank you, M*A*S*H ♥


End file.
